


Wonderwall: Looking Back Through The Crack

by TheLadyArturia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Family, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Hogwarts AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 22:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12491840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyArturia/pseuds/TheLadyArturia
Summary: After Voldemort's death, the werewolves launch an attack on the Death Eater defectors to avenge their master. The Malfoys are one of the many caught in the attack. In a society prejudiced against werewolves and with marriage laws, how will someone with lycanthropy survive? Drarry one-shot. Marriage!Law AU. Werewolf!Draco AU.





	Wonderwall: Looking Back Through The Crack

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm Arty and this is the first fanfiction story I'm publishing on AO3. I've written and published 50+ stories on fanfiction.net and decided to heed a friend's advice to cross-post here. While my fanfiction account has all pairings, I intend to make this one a Drarry-dedicated one, so I'll only be posting Draco/Harry stories here. I'll also be publishing a multi-chapter story that's already completed on ffn here, so you can expect regular updates. If that's your cup of tea, subscribe! Thanks for reading!

She raced through the underbrush, small twigs and stones scraping her ankles as she wound around trees, the tip of her wand barely lighting her way. There was a red flash somewhere to her left followed by a pained scream.

‘Please be safe,’ she prayed as she made a sharp turn and hid behind the trunk of a large tree. 

She could hear voices up ahead, but the ringing in her ears made it difficult to decipher the words. Someone was begging for mercy, and she hoped beyond hope it wasn’t who she thought it was. There was a flash of light followed by the soft thud of a body falling. Several voices rose in laughter, and one of them commanded the others to go on ahead. This voice, she recognised. 

_Greyback._

Sidestepping, she tightened the grip on her wand, ready to lash out a few curses, but there was a sudden explosion from behind her, causing her to pause and look over her shoulder. Squinting into the darkness, she tried to gauge the distance between her and the rapidly spreading fire. 

The men behind her swore and took off running in the direction of the fire, and she sidled back up against the trunk to keep from being seen. Once she could no longer hear their footfalls, she took a final glance at the burning treetops and hurried into the clearing. 

“Oh, heavens,” she whispered, getting down on her knees beside the crumpled body on the ground. The moment she saw the mess of dark hair, her heart jolted in relief. “Gregory!” she hissed, shaking the boy’s hefty shoulder to wake him. “Gregory, wake up!”

The Goyle boy moaned in pain, and she tutted in annoyance. Looking around to make sure they were alone, she considered for a moment if she should use the Feather-light Charm to Levitate him out of there, but he stirred before she could act on it. He mumbled something incoherent, and she brought her face close to his.

“Where is he? Where is he?” she asked urgently, and the boy waved a finger in the direction of the fire. “Get on your feet if you want to live,” she commanded, startling him awake with a weak Stinging Hex. “Head to Hogwarts! The wards will keep you safe.”

Only staying long enough to watch him get to his feet, she hurried back the way she had come, hoping beyond hope that her son wasn’t badly injured. 

She had just detangled herself from a low-hanging vine when she spotted someone hunched over a gnarled root. Without hesitating, she shot a hex towards the man. He rolled away with a pained shout, revealing the body sprawled across the ground. Her blood ran cold as the boy’s platinum hair shone in the pale moonlight that filtered down through the gaps between the leaves. 

“No,” she whispered, falling to her knees beside him. Reaching over with trembling hands, she carefully pulled the boy into her lap, a sob escaping her lips. “Please, no.” Despite the situation, she had the presence of mind to check to see if he was breathing. Pressing her fingers to the pulse point on his wrist, she ran her lit wand over his ravaged body, counting the number of bloody bites and open wounds. 

When she felt a faint pulse beneath her fingertips, she nearly collapsed in relief. She began searing the most severe wounds shut, hoping he hadn’t lost too much blood. Her magical reserves were spent from the battle, leaving her unable to Apparate the both of them out of there. “Draco, please,” she sobbed, raising his hand to her face. “I’m here. I’m here, Draco. You’re safe now.”

His arm fell limply by his side when she let go. 

Narcissa Malfoy held her son’s broken body close as she cried to the night, her sorrowful wails drowned out by the sound of howling. 

-oOo-

_7 Years Later_

Draco folded the piece of parchment he’d jotted down some notes on that morning and placed it in the pocket of his Potions Master overalls. Pushing back the flaps of plastic hanging over the potions room, he made his way to the front of the small store. 

“You wanted to see me?” he drawled as he came to stand beside his boss’ desk, leaning a shoulder against the wall and assuming a nonchalant demeanour. In the eight months he’d worked there, he had figured out that the squat, balding wizard didn’t handle confidence too well. 

“Er, yes,” Mr Palmer said, rummaging through the messy stack of papers on his small desk. “You, er, see, Mr Malfoy, I wanted to have a word with you about your, uh, employment here.”

Draco felt a dull ache in his side and absent-mindedly traced out the dips and curves of the bite mark scars that ran along his rib cage. “What about it?” he asked when Mr Palmer nervously glanced at him from over the rim of his glasses. 

“There’s been, ah, a sudden turn of events…” the bespectacled wizard said, his eyes flitting down to a folded newspaper. 

Draco glanced at the upside down headline of the article it was opened up to, not bothering to hold in his sigh of resignation. 

“Wild dog attacks local children?” he read, motioning to the paper. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Well, you know, considering your, uh, special circumstance, I was worried that word might spread and—” he broke off when Draco shot him a cold glare, floundered for a bit, and then continued. “People have been taking notice of your, uh, monthly absences around here. Mine is a small business, Mr Malfoy, you must understand.” He was looking everywhere but at Draco, wringing his hands and wiping the sweat from his brow as he spoke. “I still wake up from nightmares of my shop being shut down. You can hardly blame me for worrying that someone like you—someone with your, uh, problem—”

His patience drawing thin, Draco decided that he would save the man the trouble of firing him—and salvage what little pride he had left—and pulled off his overalls. Throwing it on the floor, more for show than as an act of defiance, he said, “Seeing as how we’ve reached the point of no-return, I may as well remind you that your decrepit old shop only survived this long thanks to me.” Satisfied when the man’s face went red and he spluttered in anger, Draco looked down his nose and shot him a contemptuous smile. “I shall see myself out, then. Good day, Mr Palmer.”

It was only after he was out the back door and into the alleyway beside the shop that he let his anger show. Yelling in frustration, he kicked the nearest garbage bin and ruffled his hair. He jumped up and down on the spot, trying to stomp away all the months he had worked hard, cooped up in the dingy backroom, brewing potions for an ungrateful coward of a man. 

“Ah, fuck,” he swore, dusting his worn jeans and straightening his loose T-shirt. His parents hated how he had started dressing since he had left St Mungo’s, several months after the war. He had left in one piece, but the patchwork that was his skin was a constant reminder that he would never be the person he was before the werewolf attack. Considering all he had lost in that one year, he didn’t see the necessity of dressing all posh and pretending to be the rich heir of a (mis)fortune that he was supposed to be.

He Apparated home, directly into the cellar, and hoped his parents wouldn’t notice he was back. Picking up a bottle of Firewhiskey, he popped the cork and took a long swig, hissing at the familiar burn that trailed down his throat. 

Making his way up to the kitchen, he intended to grab a bite to eat and disappear into his room without a sound, but, as luck had it, his mother had the perception of a female dragon guarding her egg. 

“Draco, is that you?” she called. 

With a resigned sigh, he trudged into the lounge, not bothering to set aside the bottle of Firewhiskey before he stood before his parents. His mother studiously avoided fixing her gaze on anything but his face—his parents had learnt better than to try and talk him into dressing better, but that didn’t mean they liked it—and attempted a comforting smile. 

“You’re back home quite early. What about work?”

“Quit,” he said, holding up the Firewhiskey. “Was just going to get some food to go with my celebratory drink.”

Neither his mother’s posture nor her expression gave anything away, as always, but he had learnt to notice the minute, inconspicuous movements she made that revealed her frustration. Right then, his eyes trailed down to her fingers that were clutching the armrest just a little too tight, and he contained the urge to take another swig from the bottle. 

“No matter,” she said. Her voice was even, but Draco knew to identify the slight underlying tremor in it. “I wasn’t particularly fond of that hovel anyway. Your talents were wasted on that simpleton.”

“That’s what you say about all of them,” Draco muttered, but his mother only smiled in reply. 

“Shouldn’t you be searching for a new place of employment instead of getting wasted in the middle of the day?” his father finally questioned without looking up from the newspaper he was reading. 

“Turn to page four,” Draco said, raising his bottle of Firewhiskey. “There’s an interesting article about a wild dog attacking some innocent children.”

His father didn’t bat an eyelid, let alone actually do what Draco said. After a moment, he drawled, “The one where a bunch of no-good brats pelted stones at a pregnant bitch and got growled at in response?”

Draco scoffed. “That’s the one.” Nodding to his mother, who was eyeing the Firewhiskey like she had half a mind to jump up and grab it out of his hands, he said, “I’ll be excusing myself first,” and left the room before either of them could say anything more. 

Standing outside, he glanced at the wall, imagining himself smashing the bottle against it. He played it over and over again in his mind until he was able to breathe easier. 

He had been humiliated quite a lot throughout his life, but there was nothing more mortifying than telling his parents that he had been kicked out of a job… once again. It wasn’t like he even worked because he needed the money. But he needed to do something. Anything. Just to feel like his life had some meaning, even if it was the most inconsequential thing in the world. 

That way, he would at least continue to exist. He would manage to get through the days and weeks and months by going through the same routine over and over again. He would have some hold over his sanity. He wouldn’t constantly think about giving into his animalistic impulses every month and just throw himself off a building. 

But, despite all the legislations passed in support of werewolves to help them live normal lives, justice and equality only ran skin-deep. Beneath all the flesh and bone was the unchangeable prejudice born from fear, and no matter the speeches given or marches conducted, the looks of disgust still lingered, crawling up and down his skin and making his insides churn. 

He was a werewolf. Not by choice but by circumstance. And he only had two ways to deal: either he lived with it or he died with it. 

-oOo-

It had been three weeks.

Three weeks of desperately searching for something to do—to the extent that he had even considered working as a janitor in the Ministry, if worse came to worst... but his pride shut down the very idea before he could think on it any further. 

His mother had once suggested he travel the world, but for what? He wasn’t the adventurous sort. He preferred to remain in a place he was familiar with, where there was some sense of security—someplace and someone to run back to with his tail between his legs when the going got tough. 

He had contemplated running away from all of it and pretending like his problems didn’t exist, but he was more realistic than that. He knew better than to believe in futile pipe dreams and fantastical promises that would never come true. His reality hit him hard every month, and there was only so far he could run before it devoured him whole. There was only so much hope and belief he could hold onto before he gave up. 

And he was currently considering giving up as he sat in the middle of his room, surrounded by leaflets, brochures, magazines, newspapers and whatnot. He leant his head back and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as the familiar sense of anxiety began to bubble in the pit of his stomach. 

_Not yet. You’re still OK. Don’t give into it yet._

There was a knock on the door just then. He ignored it as he picked up the closest newspaper cutting to see if an employment opportunity would miraculously appear on it. 

“I’m coming in,” his mother’s muffled voice said from the other side of the door.

“Don’t,” he called, but she was already stepping inside. 

He rolled his eyes. “Does privacy mean nothing in this house?”

Ignoring his disdain, she walked up to him, making sure not to step on his mess, and held out what looked like an official notice. 

“And this is?” he asked out of mild curiosity. 

“Someone has willingly accepted you as their life partner. We have just received an official summons from the Ministry.”

Draco frowned at the piece of paper, quickly skimming its contents. “Is this… real?”

“I don’t recall being the sort to pull juvenile jokes on my own son,” his mother quipped, and he snorted in response. 

“What sort of lunatic would want to marry a werewolf?”

His mother was silent for a moment, and he didn’t dare look up at the expression on her face. “Your cousin did.”

“She was all sorts of loony.”

“Draco.”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugged, knowing not to continue such a sensitive subject. “Who is it, anyway?”

When his mother hesitated, he finally looked up at her. “What, did they refuse to reveal their identity until we meet in person?”

She tutted softly, and Draco scoffed. “Considering they’re willing to take in someone like me, I suppose we have no choice but to acquiesce to their demands,” he said in a mocking tone.

His mother winced when he said someone like me, but she made no comment on it. Instead, she said, “Your father and I met in a similar way, so it isn’t all bad. The law exists to ensure that wizarding kind don’t go extinct and to ensure we remain within the community. Considering the sheer number of magical folk we have lost in the past two decades to death or to the Muggle world, you understand the gravitude of the situation, I’m sure.”

“I never said I wouldn’t go through with it,” Draco replied flatly. “I’m just sceptical about this mystery benefactor’s intentions for marrying a werewolf. Wouldn’t you be, after being rejected for seven years?”

Her eyes looked suspiciously moist, and he groaned internally. “Mother, please. You can trust that I will meet with this person and be on my best behaviour—even if they turn out to be a sadistic maniac who wants to experiment on werewolves.”

“Draco!” his mother exclaimed, her eyes widening in horror. “Do not speak like that!”

He smirked, finding his mother’s reaction endearing. “Apologies, madam.” He rose to his feet and dusted his trousers. “So, when do I get to meet my mysterious match made in the Ministry of Magic?” 

Draco grinned at his clever usage of words, but his mother didn’t seem as impressed. She handed over the notice, and he took it without needing persuasion. When she remained standing before him, he sensed she had something left to say and offered her his full attention. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I worry about your accepting this so quickly, without even looking into who your suitor is.” Her voice was soft and full of emotion. “Just because you were declined before does not mean you should jump at the first opportunity presented before you.”

He considered how to answer her in a way that wouldn’t cause her to break down crying. “Mother,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “I understand you’re concerned, but you need to accept that this is my reality now. Nobody wants me, Mother. Nobody.” She wavered, and he reached forward to hold her by the shoulders. “How many times have I been declared unfit to work and denied a job? How many times have I had to hide the truth, only to face the harsh consequences when found out? How many times have I been unceremoniously thrown out simply because of rumours or hearsay?” He took a deep breath, a lump forming in his throat. “How many times have I been outright rejected by prospective partners simply because of my circumstance?”

“Some of those were our fault,” she said, her voice trembling. “Some were more bothered by the fact that you were the son of former Death Eaters than because you are—” she broke off, unable to finish her sentence. 

“I know,” he said softly. “I know, and I don’t blame anybody for what’s happened to me. I really don’t.” He managed a small smile as his conscience berated him for lying to his mother’s face. “I’ve made peace with everything that’s happened to me. And, let’s be honest, this is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long while, not considering these past three weeks.” 

She didn’t look too convinced, so he added, “I promise you, if the person turns out to be a psychopath, I will run out of there without thinking twice about it.”

Finally, she smiled, a small, teary one, and reached up to place her hand on his. “Never forget that your father and I love you no matter what, Draco. You could be a werewolf or a Death Eater or the Dark Lord himself, and we would still love you all the same. You don’t have to change anything about yourself for our sakes. You are our pride and joy, my son. You will always be.”

Draco hugged her then, overcome by emotion. He hated that he was such a disappointment of a son. He hated that he brought his parents nothing but pain. He hated what an undeserving bastard he was that he lapped up their love without a trace of guilt or repentance. 

_This is why I’m jumping at this opportunity,_ he thought. _I have to give you at least one legitimate reason to be proud of me or I can never live with myself._

-oOo-

Draco stared slack-jawed as the person he was to marry entered the room. His mother jabbed him in the side with her elbow, and he snapped his mouth shut, swallowing down his shock. 

No, he thought, pinching his thigh to assure himself that he was conscious and wasn’t dreaming. This is either a cruel joke or a dream come true. 

The man approached them, emerald eyes glittering with mirth as he came to stand before Draco in a perfectly-tailored suit and miraculously neat hair, his spectacles reflecting the fluorescent lamp’s light and nearly blinding Draco. He held his arm out, and Draco stared at it before mechanically reaching up and shaking it. 

“Harry Potter,” Draco’s supposed nemesis said in introduction—as though Draco needed one— his smile growing. “I’m frankly relieved that you agreed to meet me.”

“What—why—” Draco stammered stupidly, and Potter grinned in response.

“I was afraid you would refuse to meet me if you knew it was me.”

Draco glanced to his side, and his parents looked just as confused and stunned. Potter turned to direct his smile at them and offered a polite greeting that his parents accepted just as graciously—or at least his mother did; his father was frozen in shock. 

Potter then motioned towards the room outside which they were standing. “I don’t want to seem too forward, but do you mind if I could speak with you alone?”

Before Draco could even begin to process what was happening, his mother had already ushered them inside and shut the door behind them. He could tell that his mother approved of his marriage to Potter, especially because Potter had testified in favour of Draco at his trial. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded the moment they were alone.

Potter flopped down on the lone sofa in the room and loosened his tie. He patted the space beside him, but Draco stood where he was, crossing his arms and frowning down at the other man. “Explain yourself, Potter.”

“Wow, you haven’t changed one bit, have you?” Potter grinned. “I was banking on you being shocked for long enough that I could just get you to sign the agreement and we could make this official right away, but I guess I underestimated you.”

“As you always have in the past,” Draco said, his voice cold. “What is it that you intend to accomplish with this?”

Potter scratched his ear, looking uncomfortable. “Truth be told, I guess I just wanted a fresh start.”

Draco scoffed. “And you chose me of all people to do that with?”

“I’m not sure if you follow the news—or the news related to me, anyway—but they still won’t let me outlive this whole Chosen One nonsense and I’m frankly sick of it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow. Are you telling me that your celebrity status has forced you to settle down? Wow, quite popular, aren’t you?”

Potter pursed his lips. He gave Draco a long, intense look that almost made Draco fold, and said, “To put it simply, every person involved with me, romantically or otherwise, has been forced into the spotlight, and they’re sick of it. I can’t hold a casual conversation with someone in a coffee shop without it appearing on the tabloids the next day.”

“And you thought marrying me would be the solution to your problem because?”

“Will you sit down? It’s annoying to have to look up at you like this,” Potter said, patting the seat beside him again. 

Draco sighed but sat down anyway, crossing his legs and sticking his chin in the air pompously. 

“You don’t have to force yourself to behave in a certain way around me,” Potter said. “And you can reject this proposal if you want; I didn’t make the offer to chain you down but because I hoped you would accept.”

“Why, though?” Draco was still sceptical about Potter’s motives. His reasoning so far sounded like a load of hogwash. 

Potter sighed. “I was sent a marriage notice by the Ministry three years ago with a list of prospective suitors. None of them really held my fancy, and I was still seeing Ginny back then. When she joined the Harpies, we had a long discussion about various things, a lot of it mostly involving my “celebrity status”, as you so nicely put it, and we decided that the logical course of action would be to break up.” He shrugged. “She’s still touring the world with her team and seems to have found someone, and I still refused to pick from the list given to me. Someone from the Ministry who was apparently a fan of mine or something said that she could maybe pull some strings and find me an alternative list of names, and I initially refused, but after seeing your name, I decided to accept it.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you chose me.”

Potter looked him dead in the eye and said, “Because nobody else held my fancy. Is that not reason enough?”

Draco blinked. It took him a moment to process what he had just heard, and he burst out laughing, forgetting all about needing to put on the snob front. Potter watched him in amusement. 

“So, I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Hah!” Draco said, shaking his head. “If you know anything about my situation, you’ll know I don’t have the luxury to refuse.”

Potter’s expression sobered. “I want to tell you how untrue that is, but I don’t think you’ll listen.”

Draco smirked. “I won’t.”

“Well, alright. Do you need time to discuss this with your parents or…?”

Draco waved his hand. “I’m sure now that my mother knows you’re not a psychopath, she wouldn’t have any qualms. And my father… well, Mother will take care of him.”

“I’m slightly alarmed by the complete 360 your personality did in five minutes,” Potter confessed. 

“I had to seem like the stuck-up prat you knew from school so you could feel comfortable.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“Anyway, Potter—”

“Harry,” Potter interrupted.

“What?”

“Call me Harry. Just Harry.” 

He smiled, and Draco decided that marrying Harry Potter wouldn’t be the worst thing that happened to him. 

-oOo-

“ _Another_ rejection?” Harry exclaimed, looking genuinely stumped. “I don’t get it. Most people would die to have someone with your skills in their company! How could not one place employ you?”

Draco flopped down on the bed and sidled up beside him. “Stop making such a fuss,” he muttered. “It’s just another rejection. Not like I need the money anyway.”

Harry grabbed him by the cheeks and squeezed. “Listen here, Malfoy—”

“Do we haf to do thish right now?” Draco said and moved his lips up and down so it looked like a fish face. “I’m shleepy.”

Harry pursed his lips, shook his head, leaned in to peck Draco on his fish mouth, and then went back to polishing his Head Auror badge. Draco fitted his chin on Harry’s shoulder and hummed contentedly. 

“You’re awfully clingy tonight,” Harry commented, earning a sharp pinch from the blond. “Ow!”

“Savour it. You won’t get it no matter how much you want it for the next two weeks.”

Harry paused in his shining, looking thoughtful. “It’s already that time of the month? I’m going to be lonely.”

“You say the cutest things,” Draco said in a mocking voice, ruffling Harry’s hair.

“Hey! I set it this morning; don’t destroy my hard work!”

“Your hair is just as unruly as your—”

Harry cut him off by slapping a palm to his mouth and pushed him down. Straddling him, Harry grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna see how well you do against a seasoned Auror in a wrestling match?” He punched the air with his fists. “Come on, pretty boy.”

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed Harry off him. “I don’t partake in childish games,” he said coquettishly. Harry grumbled something that sounded like wuss, causing Draco to tackle him. He pinned Harry beneath him and smirked. “How does it feel like to be beaten by a pretty boy, oh seasoned Auror?” 

Harry shrugged, making an impressed face. “I could get used to this.”

“You are such a—” Draco laughed, Harry joining him, and the moment was so pure and full of happiness that Draco never wanted it to end. 

After a time, while they lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the night, Draco murmured, “You never did tell me why you chose me.” When Harry began to mutter in protest, he added, “Why you really chose me.”

There was a rather long moment of silence before Draco felt Harry’s warm fingers interlace with his. “Does it matter? We’re together now. And we’re happy.”

“When you say it that way it makes me sound stupid,” Draco grumbled.

Harry chuckled. He then said somberly, “Well, if I have to be completely honest—and don’t start with me for this—I suppose I’ve always wished I had helped you back in school, when I could, instead of letting you go down the path you did. Maybe if I’d befriended you back then, you wouldn’t have ended up as Voldemort’s little lackey.” 

Draco thought about what he said. “So you pit—”

“I didn’t pity you; not for a moment,” Harry cut in before Draco could finish. “Like I said, I just wanted a fresh start. I wanted a chance to do what I couldn’t all those years ago.” Then, turning his head, he asked, “Is that not reason enough?”

Draco laughed, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s. “That’s a perfectly good reason as any.” They remained quiet for a while, each lost in thought, and Draco finally said, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but why don’t I work from home?”

“That sounds great,” Harry murmured, moving forward to nuzzle his nose against Draco’s cheek. “What sort of work will you do?”

Draco stared at the ceiling and touched his side. “I want to search for a cure for Lycanthropy.”

-oOo-

He raced through the underbrush, small twigs and stones scraping his ankles as he wound around trees, the tip of his wand barely lighting his way. There was a loud rip somewhere to his left followed by a pained scream.

‘Please be safe,’ he prayed as he made his way towards the screams.

He crouched behind a tree and peered around it to gauge the extent of his husband’s transformation. What he saw made his blood run cold.

The blond was lying in the centre of the clearing, curled up like a foetus, his clothes ripped and shredded. The rings of his spine pressed against his pale flesh, the stitched up skin pulled taut. His feet and hands were scratched and bloody, and he was moaning into his chest, shuddering every now and then. 

He hurried to where the blond was, caught in mid-transformation, the effects of the experimental serum kicking in a bit too late. 

“I told you not to do this,” he whispered, gently reaching over to lay a hand on the other man’s shoulder. The blond snarled and whipped around, tackling him to the ground. He muttered a quick Stunner and watched the other man fly off him and collapse a distance away.

“I told you to stop using yourself for your experiments!” he yelled, walking over to where his husband laid, writhing. “There are enough werewolves willing to offer themselves up as test subjects so why do you have to keep inflicting pain on yourself like this?”

The blond groaned, rolling around on the ground.

“Draco, please,” he whispered, choking up as he squatted down pulled his husband into his arms. “Please, stop this.” 

Draco clawed at his shirt, and he reached into his pocket to pull out a syringe. He jabbed the needle into the blond’s thigh and pushed down on the plunger, hoping beyond hope the antidote worked and reversed the transformation. 

After what seemed like an inordinately long time, Draco finally stirred. He looked up, silver eyes glassy and unfocused. “Harry,” he croaked, and Harry held him close, blinking away the tears. “Harry,” he said again, holding up a trembling hand. His wedding ring shone on his ring finger, and Harry kissed it, placing Draco’s palm over his heart. 

“I’m here. I’m here, Draco. You’re safe now.”


End file.
